


Roses Are Red

by x_x



Category: Generator Rex
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 15:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19444081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_x/pseuds/x_x
Summary: Valentines Day spent like anyone would expect these two to spend theirs.





	Roses Are Red

Rex sees rose petals. Slick circles of burgundy, trickled onto the floor and collected around his feet. It's like a path, only instead of leading him forward, the path falls behind him, marking only where he's stepped, where he's leaned against the wall.

He blinks, trying to decipher the haze before him. The hall he walks is vividly bright, lit up with candlelight, blazing orange flickering all around him. It's hard to breathe, like the darkness that overlays and underlays his vision is flooding his lungs as well.

He remembers waking up. He still feels the residual adrenaline, the same that woke him and got him moving in a rush of instinctual panic. Did he have a nightmare? He's feeling sluggish again-- leans heavily, catches himself against a wall. Adrenaline's ebbing. Sleepwalking? He should go back to bed…should find his way back.... He starts sliding--

"---! --- --- ---- --?! _\---!_ "

He's caught. Hard, yieldless arms tight around his rib cage. He's jostled, one of the arms moving until there's a hand on his face forcing it up. This is how he gets eye-to-eye with Gat.

Gatlocke's mouth his moving, but his voice sounds muffled, swinging close and then far again, swaying like the scene around them.

Rex recognizes more by instinct, by the feel of him, more than sight. Visual alone, he may have never recognized him. It's been a while since he's seen Gatlocke so…disheveled. His hair in disarray, clothes frayed and smoking, a broad rill of-- _rose petals_ \-- shining wet over half of his face.

A chuckle bubbles out of Rex's mouth before he can stop it-- _Gat, you're ridiculous, what'd you get stuck on your face…_ \-- and he reaches up to dust Gatlocke's cheek. For some reason, the petals stick to his hand.

" _Rex_."

The arms tussle him slightly, desperately, and he feels more petals flake off him as a result.

And like that, the rest of world comes flooding back in a roar.

The candlelight around them burst into sharp focus, into real flames, scattered all about them and leaping, releasing black smoke that clogs up the hall and is crowded up against the ceiling, flowing like a tide, the fire eating away at the building and snarling for more.

Rex screams, startled by the flare of sharp pain in his side. His knees just about fold underneath him, but he just falls into the hook Gatlocke has angled his arm exactly for. Despite all the pain and discomfort, Gatlocke immediately begins whisking him down the path lit with fire.

His head lolls forward, and when he looks down, he realizes that the petals are blanketed all over him, gathered especially thick around his lower right abdomen. In that part, the rose petals look…clumpy…pinkish. And suddenly it's like nausea and panic are having a boxing match in Rex's conscious.

Gatlocke gingerly adjusts their positions, pulls Rex's arm over his neck to make it easier to haul his weight, while pressing his own hand against the blossoms on Rex's side. Rex feels something shift inside him uncomfortably, but keeps it on the outside of his awareness. He can't stomach the actuality at this point.

"Don't get too winded now." Gatlocke's voice is strangely gentle, soothing as he moves them forward, one small but steady step at a time. "We're having dinner later, remember?"

It's only because he sounds so composed, so subdued that Rex's brain jogs faster, processes better, wonders about why it all feels so off, as if they're supposed to be rushing. It's then he finally (albeit vaguely) recalls that the stakes are rising high with the fire and smatters of oddly misplaced floral shreds, that they're in danger. Pressed for time.

For dinner?

_Oh._

For Valentines Day.

A brief warmth flickers in Rex's chest at the recall, at the fact that Gatlocke's got his mind on dinner. It's endearing. Sweet, in the only way their relationship has ever been.

_And so are you._

"Say again?" Gatlocke chirps, using that all-too-pleasant poker voice once more.

"Sugar is sweet," Rex mumbles.

Gatlocke doesn't respond after that. It's not until a few stumbling, desperate steps later that Rex processes the split-second glance thrown in his direction during the pause. Matches it to fear. Gatlocke's scared? As scared as Gatlocke lets on anyway-- which, it comes off as a sort of…grim intensity.

Rex is jostled as Gatlocke lurches them-- there's a give, something collapsed out of their way-- then Gatlocke is pulling them forward again. Rex's knees give out at the shock of rolling agony pulsing through his system, like his entire body is lighting up. Gatlocke collapses with him with a grunt, dragging them along.

It's impossible for Rex to tell when the motion stops. He still feels like he's swaying along, even if cognitively he puts together that they're still, and Gatlocke is wrapped around him, cradling him.

"Your lips have gone violet," Gatlocke whispers.

Rex smiles. _Violets are blue._

But Gatlocke might have been speaking more to himself the way the words came out so hushed. His thumb traces the curve of Rex's bottom lip gently, as if he could merely wipe the color off.

"I'll be okay in a few," Rex says, and tries to put as much strength as he can to his voice so that Gatlocke knows he's telling the truth.

Already he can feel his nanites on the mend, clotting the blood leaks, weaving flesh layers back together, pulling and repositioning detached veins and fat. But at this point in time, he knows he's still at that pit of the downhill before the nanites really kick in and curve his health back up to par with the living again. But them's the breaks for now: Very much incapacitated, and yet lucid enough to feel everything that's gone wrong with him. It always gets worse before it gets better.

"I can hold them off a solid moment, even two if I'm not lazy," Gatlocke sniggers. "Anymore than that's asking a bit much, and I'm not sure the current ambiguity of our courtship warrants the effort."

Rex snorts, and regrets it immediately from the flare of pain that doubles his vision. He presses his face into Gat's throat. "Remind me to make us facebook official."

"Mmh. Three moments, then." It might be his imagination but Gatlocke seems to be holding him even tighter.

He's gonna go under. Rex knows this. He's had the experience before, the shutting off of all organs, the numb weight that's become his body, the pitch coldness in his nerves, and the darkness clambering around the edges of his vision, slowly closing in on him. He's got to shut down completely before the nanites really pick up their pace and turn everything around, like a reset, a reboot.

They're not going to make it to dinner, are they?

Because Rex just _had_ to accept this mission on Valentine's Day. But, hey, in his defense, it sounded fun at the time! He remembers thinking of the idea as perfect, and scanning their surroundings, he doesn't go back on the initial opinion.

Red's supposed to add to romantic ambience, same goes for firelight. The universe has taken its liberties with both for this particular set-up, but Rex thinks it suits them well.

"Be mine," Rex murmurs, and it comes out weaker than he thought it would, so that he doesn't think Gatlocke even heard.

Gatlocke, per usual, surprises him. "Totally and completely."

The last thing Rex hears is the erupting charge from Gatlocke's cannon, and even through his closed eyes, he sees the scarlet flash and feels the heat discharge like a handful of warm, velvet petals thrown over his face.

_Roses are red._


End file.
